No one can know whether the world is fantastic or real, nor whether there is any difference between dreaming and living. Jorge Luis Borges One morning, I had received a visit from the Morgans. During the evening we had spent with Liam, I had given them my address so that they could come and collect the painting of Mullaghmore’s coast that they had so admired when we met. Eleanor was radiant at the thought of returning to Los Angeles, Jim much less so; he had truly grown attached to the lands of his ancestors, and to Liam too, I think; the days they had spent together, roaming the country, fishing, and haunting pubs, had forged a bond between the two men, and I understood how he felt at that moment. Since I had shown them around the place, or rather the tenant’s place, they had seen in my room the canvas of Assaroe Abbey’s mill and had bought that too. I was over the moon. style="text-align: justify;">On the pavement outside the house, after exchanging our cont...